May Flowers
by cheyanneasaur
Summary: Against the backdrop of the 1968 student revolutions, Enjolras' world is changed when he receives help from an unlikely friend. Now, a girl he thought needed his help is left giving him hers.
1. Chapter 1

Day 1

The day was May 2, 1968 and the beginning of a new and glorious revolution. It was official: the _Université Paris Ouest Nanterre La Défense_ had been shut down. No longer was the cry of the students "The time is near." It had become "The time is here." In response to the authorities' choice to close the university, the students of Nanterre were gathering in protest at the _Place de la Bastille_.

It was unusually warm for May in the city, and the heat was only serving to increase the sweat beading on Enjolras' forehead as he gave another rallying speech. He rolled up the sleeves of his red and black plaid shirt without pause. His gestures were emphatic, his voice full of fire and sincerity. The showmanship with which he was delivering his address was succeeding in drawing the attention of those around. The crowd of students was steadily growing, and with the increase in numbers came an increase in his motivation. Although his major was law, Enjolras was made for the spotlight.

"Citizens! Why are we angry?" Enjolras threw his arms open wide, encouraging a response. His question was met with angry shouts that, though jumbled and unintelligible, all conveyed the same message: the people wanted change.

His next rallying cry was cut short by the loud _bang_ of a gunshot, swiftly followed by the nasally, self-important shout of a policeman. "Disperse! Disperse at once!"

Enjolras glared at the mob in pristine navy blue uniforms and smirked, his lip curling disdainfully. He surveyed the crowd which separated him from them and felt a sudden rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins; in this moment, Enjolras felt that he was unstoppable.

"Never!" Enjolras fired back, much to the pleasure of the students at his feet. Whatever the officers were going to say next was drowned out by their wild cheers, though it was obvious that they continued to call for order. Finally, the policeman who spoke first was able to scream into his megaphone loud enough to be heard above the din.

"Disperse, or be arrested!"

It was Bahorel, one of Enjolras' closest friends, who spoke up next, though his words only served to give pause to the student leader, a heavy knot of anxiety beginning to form in the pit of his stomach. Enjolras detested violence or altercations unless necessary, and what Bahorel was provoking wasn't.

"Save your breath, _abruti_! No one's goin' anywhere without a proper fight."

"Get 'em, boys!"

The chaos which followed left Enjolras momentarily rooted to his spot on the makeshift stage – stunned into silence by the animosity of the officers, and the desperation with which the students fled the scene of the crime. Only a few were caught at first, though those unlucky few paid for their wrong turn and their insubordination with a swift blow from a truncheon or a healthy dose of pepper spray to the face. One of those first victims was Jehan Prouvaire, the poet of Enjolras' group of rebels. Bile rose in his throat as he stood, transfixed, watching his friend being kicked in the ribs. As he regained control of his limbs, he noticed that the cries of his friends and followers were not those of agony, but rather ones of defiance, which only served to increase the violence and set the knot in Enjolras' stomach churning.

As Enjolras turned to make his own get away, he was met with the sight of an officer, the one who had ordered the attack, heading his way. The man's face was contorted in a monstrous snarl, his lips curling upward and his teeth barred. Enjolras was uncertain of whether the thing charging at him, baton raising above his greying head, was a man or a wolf, and he felt trapped by the fury in his yellow-green eyes. His trance was broken by a sudden and frightening tug on his left hand. Enjolras whipped his head around, his muscles tensing for a fight, but what he saw when he turned around threw him.

Wide, world-weary brown eyes looked up at him from the face of a stranger – a woman whom he thought seemed familiar in the same way chimeras often do. She was grinning like the Cheshire cat, and her smile added a wild look to her already bohemian air. Enjolras felt his heart beat faster in his chest, though he told himself it was because of the melee and not because of the proximity of the girl.

Before he could ask her who she was, or yank his hand free, she was leaning her lithe frame against his arm, straining on tip toe to reach his ear. She smelled of whiskey and wildflowers. For a moment, the panic in the square fell away and Enjolras knew only her words. Her voice was hoarse and the heat of her breath tickled Enjolras' neck when she rasped, "Follow me, m'sieur."

The girl took off without a moment's delay or a response, Enjolras in tow, straight through the bushes and over a bed of tulips. She cared little for what was trampled beneath her bare feet; she noticed almost nothing of her surroundings. She was giggling like a child.

"This way!" she cried, pulling Enjolras along behind her as a toddler would a worn out teddy bear. A jumbled string of protests fell from his lips but they made no impression on the girl. His usually sharp blue eyes were clouded with confusion and his mind hazy from adrenaline, and with vague recognition Enjolras noticed that they were no longer running through the soft grass of the Bastille, but were instead bounding across rough pavement in the direction of the _Cimetière du Père Lachaise_. "You be my eyes from the back," she said breathlessly, "are they still on our tail?"

When the words finally registered in Enjolras' mind, he threw a nervous glance over his shoulder toward the park. His heart fell to his feet. The wolf-like officer was picking his way across the street, three of his uniformed thugs in swift pursuit.

"Yes," Enjolras answered, his head whipping back around to face where he was going before he tripped, "I counted four, though more could certainly be on their way."

"Damn," the girl murmured, biting her lip and quickening their pace from a jog to a run, "It's Javert; he'll never leave us alone. We need to get lost somewhere. You're mighty precious cargo, m'sieur."

Enjolras blinked bewilderedly before nodding in silent agreement. The girl hadn't even noticed, her eyes were searching frantically for a nook or crevice in which to hide, the rest of her focus on weaving through the sparse crowd. It did not take her long to concoct a solution, and the woman gave another sharp tug of Enjolras' hand.

"Aha!" she giggled, increasing their speed three fold. Enjolras was considerably taller than the stranger but his long legs were struggling to keep up with her quick steps. The pair flew down the _Rue de la Roquette_, crossing the busy _Boulevard Voltaire_ during a fortuitous lull in traffic. Once safely on the other side, Enjolras hazarded another quick glance over his shoulder.

"The resurgence of traffic has bought us some time," he said confidently, "We're in the clear."

"Don't jinx us!" the young woman hissed, not daring to look back. "You just leave it to me, _aristo_."

They took off again at top speed, barreling past unsuspecting Parisians. Shouts from the police officers nipped at their heels, but thankfully the light had not yet turned and the runaways were halfway down the last leg of the _Rue de la Roquette_ before Javert and his men were able to cross the boulevard.

"Do you have a _plan_, mademoiselle, or are we just running for exercise?" Enjolras called above the howls of Javert. As a student, he was more accustomed to sitting and reading than to running and his breathing was labored, his words strained. The girl laughed effortlessly at the distress in his voice.

"A plan? Why, of course!"

"Then what is it?"

"Not to get caught, m'sieur," she threw back, a dimpled smile on her flushed face. Enjolras' retort caught in his throat as Javert, his wolf's face snarling, barked out an order for the fugitives to stop.

"Lucky for us, we're only _à deux pas_ from salvation," the woman panted, pointing at the gargantuan cemetery walls rising before them. Without hesitation and, Enjolras noted, without looking both ways, the pair ran headlong into traffic on the _Boulevard de Ménilmontant_. Their recklessness was met with angry blowing of horns and screeching of tires from drivers, and many frightened gasps from the few onlookers, as well as a few breathless curses from Enjolras.

Still quite a ways ahead of the four police officers, and with Javert disallowing illegally crossing the busy boulevard, the pair made it into the _Cimetière du Père Lachaise _before their assailants made it to the street corner. Enjolras looked behind him before rounding the corner into the cemetery at the fuming wolf-man. Javert was shouting, red-faced, at his men for their lack of diligence and their obvious intake of one too many scones and Enjolras laughed out loud. They weren't coming after them. The unexpected outburst caught the woman's attention, and she threw him a glance over her shoulder.

"What? This the first 'venture into crime of yours, m'sieur?" she asked, slowing their run to a brisk walk. No one was in that part of the cemetery and she felt no need to rush any longer; Javert and his men wouldn't be able to sniff them out in the labyrinth of tombstones and mausoleums, even if they decided to try.

"I am a student of law, mademoiselle," Enjolras replied, tugging his hand out of her thin fingers indignantly, "Though I do not consider what we have just done to be a crime. It was necessary."

The woman's face had fallen when Enjolras had pulled away, but she let out a peel of raspy laughter at his justification. She raised her hands in a sign of mock defeat and Enjolras narrowed his pale eyes.

"Excuse me, _monsieur_," she said with a wry smile, stressing the proper pronunciation of the last word, "Though if you are that against crime, I don't imagine we'll get along very well." Another throaty laugh followed, and a shiver ran up the blonde man's spine.

The pair found themselves in one of the most deserted corners of the cemetery and, almost as suddenly as she had started running, the young woman came to a halt beneath a gnarled tree. Enjolras nearly tripped over her tiny frame in surprise. She stared wistfully down at the lone grave nestled in the crook of the ancient roots, bunching her hands in the folds of her white cotton shirt and biting her lip in thought.

"Did you know this person?" Enjolras ventured, despite the obvious signs that the headstone was perhaps even older than she. The girl shook her head, her brunette waves following almost playfully. "Then why is it that we've stopped here? We should keep going

"Marius Pontmercy…," whispered the girl, cocking her head to the side with a crooked smile. "I like the sound of that name, don't you? It's got a… a ring to it. Yes, a beautiful ring." Turning abruptly to face Enjolras, she fixed her large brown eyes on him. "Names are important; for some people, a name is all that they've got. Mine's Éponine, what's yours?"

The man paused, taken aback by the swift change of topic and the even more sudden shift in Éponine's mood. He kept his face unreadable and folded his arms across his broad chest.

"Enjolras."

"Enjolras," the girl repeated slowly, her mouth carefully forming the syllables of the unfamiliar word. She smiled, "I like that name, too, 's got a nice sound about it."

Enjolras nodded in thanks, uncertain of what "sound" she was talking about. He cast a glance around the area in search of the nearest exit but found none but the one by which they entered. Resigning himself to stay a little longer in the company of the dead, at least until he was certain that the coast was clear, Enjolras looked back at Éponine. She flashed him an innocent smile and Enjolras found himself contemplating the impossible delicacy of her dimples.

"Is something wrong, m'sieur?" Éponine said, her smile faltering beneath Enjolras' scrutinizing gaze. She shifted from foot to foot self-consciously. Her bare toes dug into the soft grass, still damp from the morning's rain shower and, when he did not answer, Éponine hid her face behind her tangled brown waves.

"No, no," Enjolras said finally, looking anywhere but at Éponine's face and scrambling for a logical explanation, "I was merely thinking that it is imperative for me to get home soon. I have an important meeting tonight, and there are things which I need to finish preparing."

Éponine frowned, "So you have to go?" Enjolras gave a curt nod and the girl's bony shoulders sagged. The man looked down at his feet, his cheeks flushing, when the neck of her slouchy shirt slipped further down Éponine's thin arm, nearly exposing her chest. She didn't seem to notice. Éponine was lost in her thoughts, chewing at her chapped lip.

"I thank you for your assistance today, mademoiselle," he began, backing up and preparing to make another hasty retreat, "Without you, I fear that I would have been arrested."

Éponine smiled at the ground, "You really think so, monsieur Enjolras?" He nodded and her smile widened, "It feels nice to do some good, y'know."

"Perhaps you should try to do it more often, then," Enjolras suggested, earning a wicked look from the girl.

"I'll start doing good when the world starts doing it for me," she said flatly. Enjolras paused his flight and looked at her earnestly. He had noticed her bare feet beneath the torn cuffs of her bellbottom jeans almost immediately, but his observation had stopped there. The holes in her pants he had at first taken to be fashion statements proved instead to be from a bad fall. The knees were smudged with dirt, and Enjolras noticed an angry red gash on one of her scrawny knees. It matched a cut beneath her left eye, and Éponine's arms were covered in hand-shaped bruises. Enjolras felt sick to his stomach.

Éponine felt his eyes sweep over her and noticed the way his eyes widened in shock. She laughed nervously, pulling his attention from a week-old bruise on her hipbone peeking out from beneath the bottom of Éponine's shirt. The innocent smile on her face held a whole new meaning, and Enjolras felt as though he was suffocating.

"Are those –" he began. Éponine only nodded and Enjolras balled his fists by his sides.

A warm May breeze swept through the graveyard, rustling the leaves of the trees above their heads. One of Enjolras' golden curls fell in front of his eyes. Wordlessly, the pitiful girl stepped forward, bridging the gap Enjolras had worked so hard to create. Reaching out with quick and deliberate movements, Éponine gently tucked the hair back into place. She didn't move away.

"I should go," Enjolras managed. Every muscle in his body was tense, and he was uncomfortably aware of the proximity of Éponine's body. Before she had time to respond, Enjolras turned tail and walked as quickly as he could into the winding maze of mausoleums.

* * *

**A/N: **_Hey guys, I know this isn't a new chapter of HTAWG, but Tumblr user enjolrabc asked me to write her a drabble and, well, it kinda turned into something a little longer. I really like this setting though, and c'mon! 60's Enjolras? Who could pass that up! I promise to finish a new chapter of HTAWG before the end of May though. Pinky swear._

_PS, review and whatnot? Thanks!_


	2. Chapter 2

Day 2

Enjolras groaned, furiously scratching out the line he had just written. In his irritation, he tore a hole in the paper. He groaned again. The speech he was preparing was set to be delivered at noon. Enjolras checked his watch. _Ten fifty-six_. He rubbed his tired eyes and leaned back against the uncomfortable back of the wrought iron park bench.

"Whotcha doin'?"

It was her; Enjolras knew it without looking up. Her perfume of whiskey and wildflowers drifted to him on the gentle spring breeze. The whiskey seemed to be a bit stronger than it had the day before, and its harsh sweetness burned Enjolras' nose. He frowned, wondering how she had found him in his peaceful corner of the _Jardin du Luxembourg_.

"I'm writing," he replied, discouraging conversation. He glanced briefly up at Éponine and his heartbeat quickened. She gave him her Cheshire grin. There was a new bruise forming on the bridge of her petite nose and Enjolras had to physically bite his tongue to keep from mentioning it.

"I can see 'at," Éponine laughed, ignoring his pointed stare. She flopped down beside Enjolras on the park bench he had claimed, neglecting to ask his permission. Enjolras inhaled sharply and made an effort to slide away. Looking over his shoulder at the open notebook in his lap, Éponine began to read Enjolras' speech aloud. Enjolras tensed.

"Y'know," she paused, pointing at the paper, "I'd put this part at the beginning. You've got lotsa talk about _liberté_, _égalité_, _fraternité, but –"_

"It isn't finished yet," Enjolras ground out, cutting across the rest of her thought. He shut his notebook with a snap. What did she know about speech writing? _Nothing._

Éponine nearly choked on her words. The anger in his voice and his eyes caught her off guard, but her own ire swelled to meet his in an instant.

"Oh! Excuse me, monsieur Enjolras," she spat. Éponine stood up stiffly, her thin hands balling into fists. "Shoulda guessed that a man like you can't stand to be corrected. It's all about 'helping the unfortunate,' with you, isn't it? But God forbid one of us tries to help you!"

She paused, breathing heavily. Colour had rushed to her pale cheeks, and a slight flush was creeping along her delicate neck. Her tangled brown waves had tumbled over one eye. She was Aphrodite; wild, fierce, frenzied, and passionate but above all, beautiful.

Enjolras met her indignant gaze coolly, his face unreadable. They stayed like that, a match of fire and ice, for what felt like an eternity. After only a few moments of mutual silence however, Éponine flung up her arms in exasperation.

"Well, y'know what? I'm done, _à votre aise_!"

With that, she turned on her heel and marched off.

Waves of remorse and shame crashed over Enjolras. He looked between the notebook and Éponine's retreating form, caught in a rare moment of indecision. The sight of her, thin arms hugging her narrow chest, her bare feet shuffling, moved his marble heart to pity. Her angry words were ringing in his ears.

"Mademoiselle!" he called. Éponine turned around, chewing on her lip. She looked like a cat ready to pounce. Enjolras patted the bench beside him stiffly, swallowing his pride and pushing away the stinging feeling her lecture had left behind. "Will you help me finish this? Another person's perspective may… enhance the message."

Éponine's large brown eyes lit up and she skipped back to where Enjolras was sitting. She reclaimed her seat, now rightfully hers, and smiled cheekily. Her anger had vanished at the drop of a hat, and Enjolras was left with his head reeling, and with no time to recover.

"That's what I thought!" she joked, nudging the man with her shoulder. Had that all been an act? Enjolras winced as Éponine began reading aloud once again, picking up from where she had left off, but this time he did not stop her. Instead, he stole sidelong glances at her as she read, paying attention to the way her brow creased when she came to a part she didn't like, and the way her lips mouthed the words as she went along.

_I am only trying to better understand her_, he insisted.

When she came to the end of what he had written, Éponine leaned back thoughtfully, sticking out her bottom lip in concentration. Enjolras waited patiently, and each time she made a soft noise of indecision or contemplation, his eyes snapped back to her face and his pen was poised above the paper. She seemed to have forgotten where she was; the look in her brown eyes was far away.

"It'd be nice," Éponine breathed at last, breaking the silence, "It'd be nice to see those things come true, wouldn't it?" She smiled sadly. Enjolras gave a terse nod in response, but the girl wasn't looking at him. Silence fell between the two once more, and Enjolras noticed a pair of love birds chirping in the tree overhead.

"Well..." Enjolras prompted, pretending to look back over what he had written as a means of keeping his eyes from the woman beside him. Éponine caught his meaning and, blinking rapidly, was brought back to the present.

She cleared her throat and shifted in her seat, angling her knees toward Enjolras'. In doing so, their legs brushed. The contact was so brief that Éponine hardly noticed, thinking nothing of it, but Enjolras' breath caught in his throat. He clenched his jaw and forced his heartbeat to slow.

"As I said earlier, you need to move that middle part to the beginning," she began, gesturing haphazardly toward the notebook in Enjolras' hands, "But that still isn't enough, y'know? You… You need _something_ to tie everything together – to unite your audience."

Enjolras nodded, getting dangerously drawn in by the passion in her raspy voice. Éponine barreled on at a hundred miles a minute, flying from point to point, but always bringing it back to the main idea. He was having trouble keeping up, and jotted down notes as fast as he could. The revisions Éponine was making were surprisingly beneficial, and Enjolras couldn't help but curse himself for ever doubting her abilities.

"Why don't you mention women's rights, too?" she added, pausing longer than she had been between thoughts. She looked expectantly at Enjolras, her chocolate eyes shining with excitement.

The man perked up, his own eyes flicking to Éponine's face. He gave her a questioning look and frowned.

"But the speech is about student's rights," he explained slowly. Éponine rolled her eyes and smiled sarcastically.

"The last time I checked, women were students, too," she countered bitingly. Enjolras still wasn't convinced, and the girl gave a frustrated huff. "'Member what I said about uniting your audience?" The man nodded, feeling like a child, "Well, now's your chance."

"My audience –" Éponine cut him off, holding up a small hand as an order for silence. Enjolras obeyed, scowling.

"Your audience is full of men _and_ women, m'sieur, and as a woman, I'm telling you that mentioning the need for equal rights would certainly get you _my _support a lot quicker than blabbering on and on about textbook costs."

Enjolras opened his mouth to refute her claims, but found that he had nothing to say. She was right; he talked about equality for students, and fairer prices and policies, but he neglected the fairer sex in the same way the government was. Did he not walk past fellow students on a daily basis – in the library, on the great lawn, in the halls – of the opposite gender, and were just as dedicated as he, if not more so _because_ of their gender? Enjolras felt as though he was seeing his true purpose for the first time.

He bent his head and began scribbling away furiously. The words which had refused to come only a half an hour ago were flowing from his pen as freely as water from a spring. Enjolras looked up at Éponine and flashed her a boyish smile, his relief and renewed vision making him giddy. A few minutes later, Enjolras was putting the final period on his speech with a triumphant flourish.

"All better?" Éponine joked, ribbing him. He scowled, but there was no malice behind it and Éponine laughed.

He checked his watch again before answering. _Eleven thirty-five_. That gave him just enough time to get to the Café Musain to deliver his now finished speech. Enjolras thanked his stars that he had an excuse to get away, to be taking his leave of the enigmatic girl. Her presence was a distraction.

"I have to go," Enjolras announced unceremoniously, standing up and shouldering his worn out black knapsack. He had a tricolor rosette pinned to the zipper, and Éponine could see a Victor Hugo novel peeking out from the top of the front compartment. _Toilers of the Sea_.

Éponine frowned exaggeratedly, "Leaving so soon?" The blond man nodded, looking away. "How 'bout I come with you!" she suggested, leaping up from the bench. She only reached his shoulder, and Éponine looked up at Enjolras with wide, excited eyes. He found it difficult to look away from the darkening bruise on her nose, but he managed to meet her gaze with practiced indifference.

"No," he said flatly, turning away, "You wouldn't enjoy yourself." Éponine shook her head in protest, but Enjolras spoke over her, glancing back as he walked, "And besides, I am meeting with my friends to discuss student demonstrations. We do not need another person knowing our plans just yet; it puts us at risk."

"Lighten up! I won't rat you out," Éponine said, following him. She was smiling, but there was an edge of desperation to her voice. "And _besides_," she mocked, "Didn't I just prove that I 'enhance' things?"

Enjolras stopped in his tracks, conscious of his deadline and unwilling to prolong the discussion. The girl, who seemed to be so aware and so worldly, was acting like a child, and Enjolras recognized that there was no negotiating with children. He took a deep breath and turned to face Éponine, preparing to give her his final "No". She was still smiling confidently, but the look in her chocolate eyes was already one of dejection.

At the look of annoyance on Enjolras' face, Éponine coloured slightly and looked at the ground. "If you don't want me, m'sieur, I understand." Guilt once again threatened to drown him, and Enjolras knew that he had to indulge her. He cleared his throat pointedly, and Éponine's eyes flew to his face expectantly.

"Follow me."

* * *

The tiny room rang with applause, and Enjolras stepped down from the chair he had been using as his stage. As he walked through the little crowd assembled in the backroom of the café, he received compliments on his speech, followed by a seemingly endless stream of congratulatory pats on the back. He gave them all a small smile of satisfaction.

"That, my friend, was magnificent," Courfeyrac called as he approached Enjolras. The brunet gave his friend an animated high five, the likes of which left Enjolras' palm stinging. "I think you've really got Bahorel all worked up, too," he said, pointing to where the man in question was talking feverishly at Grantaire. To the credit of the latter, he was at least making attempts at appearing engaged in the conversation. Enjolras gave a short bark of laughter at the sight and clapped Courfeyrac on the shoulder.

"Well, if only I could get _everyone_ that excited about the cause," he replied, walking away before Courfeyrac could ask if he'd like to go to the bar down the street.

He went in search of Combeferre, to ask his friend what he had thought of the speech, but he was nowhere to be found. A crease formed on Enjolras' forehead as he scanned the room once more with the same results.

"Monsieur Enjolras!"

The man whipped around at the sound of his name, shocked to have heard a female voice amidst the roar of testosterone. When his eyes fell upon Éponine, Enjolras experienced a brief moment of panic and confusion. _What was she doing there?_ And then he remembered; the park, her help, her sad eyes. He had forgotten that she had tagged along, losing himself in his speech.

"What did you think?" he asked, skipping a greeting. Éponine didn't seem to notice his coarse manners however, and she gave him what he assumed was becoming, in his mind, her signature grin.

"I like the way you talk, m'sieur." She gave him a play punch on his shoulder, and Enjolras frowned disapprovingly.

"I like the way you always tease," he countered, the corners of his mouth twitching upward as a smile threatened to break his frown. Éponine threw her head back and laughed. Her laughter had the same husky quality as her voice, and Enjolras found himself appreciating it.

Without preamble, the girl stepped forward and snaked her arms around his middle. Her perfume surrounded him, embracing Enjolras' senses while Éponine embraced his body. His arms hung limply at his sides. He had no time to react, and she had disentangled herself from him almost as quickly as she had initiated the hug. Enjolras stared down at her unable to speak, and barely able to breathe.

"Thanks," she said simply, shrugging. "For letting me come here, and for letting me help. It feels nice to… to be a part of something."

"Enjolras!" Combeferre said from somewhere behind him. Enjolras turned and look, waving him over. When he went to introduce his friend to Éponine however, he found that she had disappeared. He saw her bohemian waves dancing through the small assembly as she flitted to the door. "Great speech, but who was that?"

Enjolras shook his head as he watched Éponine leave, "I'm not quite sure."

* * *

**A/N: **_Hey guys! Sorry again for this not being HTAWG, but I just couldn't help myself. I really like this story, and I don't know why. Anyway, yeah, so if you see any inaccuracies in details or something, or just want to comment on my writing, drop me a review or a message. For fear of sounding cliche, I love you guys, you're the bomb diggity. Thanks for reading this!_


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